Eye Shoppers
by ardavenport
Summary: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan escape from a world with the help of some of its elders.


**EYE SHOPPERS**

by ardavenport

* * *

The transport slowed.

Qui-Gon Jinn jumped.

For a few seconds, he flew. Arms spread wide, clothes flapping, Obi-Wan's hands firmly grasping his shoulders, his knees clamped to his Master's sides. From below, gravity pulled on him to a drop of hundreds of levels into a gray duracrete oblivion. But the wind and the Force carried him aloft.

"Uunnghh!" Qui-Gon grunted as his body impacted with the side of the building, his fingers clamping onto a ledge. Strength beyond bone and flesh flowed through his hands and legs, absorbing the impact, reinforcing his grip. The tips of his boots pressed hard into crevices between the durastone blocks of the massive wall.

Clinging to his back, Obi-Wan slipped.

One of Qui-Gon's arms flew back to his smaller, fifteen year-old apprentice. They hung together from Qui-Gon's arm, his feet digging in deeper to their purchase.

Obi-Wan swung himself forward, his hand reaching out, grabbing the ledge. Qui-Gon held onto the ledge with both hands again while the boy clambered over him, booted feet pressing into sides, back, shoulders, up to safety. Then he turned around, crouched low reaching to help.

The Force flowed through them both as Qui-Gon scrambled up and they quickly moved, backs to the wall, to the nearest opening. They left the sunlit open space and the pointed towers of the city below and jumped down into a shadowed corridor. They moved cautiously in the narrow, confined space of still air, solid gray walls and floors illuminated only by squares of sunlight from above.

They stopped at the sound of a siren. An official vehicle, zooming by outside and then receding in the distance, very likely pursing the transport they had just jumped from. It would take them time to find their trail, but Qui-Gon knew that they would search every tower in the city, if necessary, to find and imprison them.

They could not stay on the planet for long.

Qui-Gon glanced down at Obi-Wan, who stood at attention, still listening to the vanishing sound. He put his hand on Obi-Wan's face, over the bruises on his cheek and temple. Startled, Obi-Wan winced. He had not lost consciousness from the blow and his eyes were clear, but he was still too inexperienced to prevent the injury from being a distraction to his focus.

"It will take the some time for them to find us," Qui-Gon said.

"But how will we find the Ambassadors? We don't even know where they're being held."

"The Force will guide us, my young Padawan," the Jedi Knight instructed. Obi-Wan Kenobi looked unsatisfied with this plan, but Qui-Gon only smiled. "If we are mindful of the opportunities it presents us. Just as we were when the Minister tried to capture us," he added.

Obi-Wan silently nodded and Qui-Gon patted his shoulder. They moved on.

Qui-Gon took the first turn leading inward, away from the outside. This corridor led them to another right-angle turn. Then another. And another. But no matter how far they went into the labyrinth of high gray walls some natural light always softened the shadows. But it changed subtly, from harsh grays and clear sky to reflected color. They both heard water trickling.

A final turn led to an open archway. A lush green garden filled the space beyond it with tall stick-like trees with thin yellow green leaves, bushes of huge heavy leaves, flowering plants. Pink and red bunches of fruit weighed down branches within easy reach. The sky was open over this walled in, rooftop paradise. The air smelled freshly washed of the grit, machine-oil and combustion of the city outside.

Leading Obi-Wan out onto a stone pathway along the wall, Qui-Gon began to search for an exit. In the other direction water trickled and dripped down a very tame artificial waterfall set in the wall.

They heard footsteps.

"Oh!" a woman's voice exclaimed. They saw her head among the branches. She was Human, the dominant species on this world, hair gray and face pale. Having been spotted, the two Jedi stayed where they were as she hustled around trees and bushes to them.

She was very short and a little stooped, wearing a pale yellow dress and matching shoes. She peered up at them with weak eyes rimmed with many wrinkles in her skin.

"Well, I'm sure I haven't seen you two here before. Are you visiting?"

"Yes," Qui-Gon answered with a smile, bowing and tucking his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robe before him. "But we seem to be lost. And we must be going. If you could direc- - -"

The woman raised her arm and spoke into a long puffed sleeve of her dress.

"Marit? Are you having people in today? I don't remember seeing anything about it on the schedule."

"Me?" a little voice answered from the concealed com in the sleeve. "I don't have any visitors. Nobody does. There isn't anyone coming today."

"Well, you'll just have to tell that to the two who are standing right here in front of me."

A sound on his left caught Qui-Gon's attention. Two more old woman appear from around big bush of blue and white flowers. They were also small, one fat wearing red and one thin wearing white, their skin faded brown with age, their gray hair waved and styled into solid round shapes on their heads.

"Oh!" the thin one exclaimed and hustled forward, the fat one waddling after. She stopped and appraised Qui-Gon, looking him up and down.

"You're a fine specimen," she declared, approving. "Who do you belong to?"

"They don't belong to anyone according to Marit," said the woman in the pale yellow dress. "We're not supposed to be having any visitors today."

"Oh, what does that old biddy know?" the fat woman puffed. She grinned up at Qui-Gon, admiring. Then turned her head to look on his right.

"Oh! You poor thing! What has he been doing to you?" she demanded, her admiration swiftly shifting to ire. Obi-Wan leaned back away from the hand that she extended to his bruised face.

"What?" he said, looking from her to his Master.

"His injury was an accident," Qui-Gon said, not wanting to explain the scuffle initiated by the planetary security when they tried to take the Jedi representatives prisoner. The scowl on her jowly face deepened in obvious disbelief.

"It was," Obi-Wan defended. "He helped me!"

"Oh, younglings always say that," she scoffed. Obi-Wan scowled back at the word 'younglings'.

"He is young, and too inexperienced to know how fast one should go on a speeder bike," Qui-Gon placated, his own focus and the Force blurring her initial assumption.

"You should be more careful," she scolded, holding up a warning finger to Obi-Wan, who frowned disapproval of being patronized but said nothing.

"We appreciate your concern, but my apprentice and I must be going, if you could show us to the exit?" he inquired of the three women again, putting a little Force into his request.

"Oh! What have we here?!"

On their right, three more old women appeared from the foliage. One in a bright pink pair of pants and long tunic with a flowery border, another a in blue and green patterned robe over a dark blue dress with matching hair and the third, almost as tall as Obi-Wan, wore pants and tunic in horizontal black and white stripes.

"I didn't think we were having visitors today," the one in pink exclaimed cheerfully.

Qui-Gon looked with dismay at the six old women clustered around them, his Force influence on the first three disrupted.

"What's happened here?" the one in blue and green asked, pointing with a long, sinewy hand with huge knuckles and bright green fingernail aimed right between Obi-Wan's eyes. He pulled his head back, his eyes crossed.

"Oh, he had a bit of a speeder crash," the fat one in red explained. "I don't know why they let younglings on those things. They really don't know how to handle them."

"My great-grandson broke a leg on one of those things, but my daughter didn't think anything of it. The parents are just as irresponsible as their younglings," the one in black and white stripes added.

A babble about grandchildren, injuries and how-things-used-to-be erupted. Qui-Gon raised his hands to try to suppress the diversion, but the woman in red seized Obi-Wan by the arm.

"You don't want to hear all of them chattering like their brains have come unstuck from their mouths. Just come along with me and we'll fix that boo-boo right up."

Obi-Wan grabbed Qui-Gon's arm and they were both dragged along the path through the dense garden surrounded by the old ladies. At the first fork in the path two more old ladies joined them, both of whom looked at Qui-Gon with delight before following. They walked very close and Qui-Gon felt more than one aged hand probing his lower body.

After a few more turns and twists on the paths, with both Jedi ducking through overhanging fronds and branches that went over most of the heads of the old women, they came to a large, flat green area, surrounded by a ring of tall trees and bushes. The gray spires around the perimeter of the building were visible beyond the garden that covered the entire roof like a park.

Bright sunshine poured down on a the flat ground plants, a low covering of tiny dark round leaves that the stone pathway crossed. They headed toward a shading structure over a paved area with scattered furnishings around it and a gathering of more old women in loose comfortable and colorful clothes. Qui-Gon, who could see over everyone's head, looked all around and saw nothing that looked like a way out. The woman in red hung on to Obi-Wan and told him about how nice their garden was and ths lovely day and nice apartments, but nothing useful. The others talked about their last visitors and the nice weather. And their hands continued to grope Qui-Gon though his outer clothing impeded their curious fingers.

As they approached, a white-haired woman in a pale orange tunic trimmed in white stepped out from the shade to stare at them, her mouth open. A few others, less straight and more infirm, stood behind her. More began to cross the open area to see what was going on.

The cluster of old chatting ladies brought their guests forward. None of their heads came any higher than the middle of Qui-Gon's chest, but below that, he felt their hands patting him. A few had tried to grab his buttocks, but only got handfuls of Jedi robe instead.

"See!" the first woman they had met exclaimed, waving her yellow sleeve. "Look. We have guests. So, I don't suppose you know everything, Marit."

Marit, apparently some kind of leader of the group, gaped and Qui-Gon sensed some derision for her comrades in her surprise. Her gray eyes narrowed, appraising both newcomers.

"Sulin, I'd say that only you would be foolish enough to mistake two Jedi Knights for 'guests'," she said in a strong, harsh voice. Qui-Gon straightened. Behind him, one small old woman pressed close, stroking his lower back.

"You came here to get back the last two negotiators the Republic sent," Marit pronounced. She had a long angular face, as hard and cold as her voice, her straight white hair combed down and clipped short at the base of her neck.

Qui-Gon bowed and Obi-Wan hesitantly followed.

"We came to negotiate," he said simply. The woman at his back had felt her way around to his side. He glimpsed the top of her thinning wispy white hair down at his waist.

Marit sneered back. "After our government took their first negotiators hostage. So, they sent something a little harder to catch. Serves them right," she finished with contempt. "Hostage taking to get our way," she muttered. "When did our people get so short-sighted?"

Qui-Gon started. The woman at his side had pulled back his robe and brazenly pinched his thigh. Marit and several of the others laughed.

"Just eye-shopping there," Marit chuckled. "A few of these old ladies haven't seen a good-looking healthy male that they aren't related to in a bit too long." Qui-Gon tugged his robe back, but the old woman left him, wandering off with a big smile, having gotten what she wanted.

"Much too long," said an aged woman with broad shoulders and a fluffed cap of dyed orange hair as she eyed Obi-Wan lecherously.

"You might like them young, Tooly, but the rest of us don't care to watch," Marit snarled. Two other woman, along with the fat lady in red were already standing between Tooly and Obi-Wan.

"Oh, bring him over here!" another woman who had broken off from their group called. She stood at a table with a big pink box in the shade of the paved area.

"Master?" Obi-Wan asked, looking a little alarmed.

"Go," he said simply. The instincts of the women around him were strictly maternal and they would keep away the ones who might be more covetous. His new protectors herded Obi-Wan to the table and their pink box and dragged white latticework chairs over for them to sit on.

Standing next to Qui-Gon, Marit chuckled. "You Jedi don't like to be mothered."

Obi-Wan squirmed as two ladies dabbed at his bruises with greenish-blue pads from the pink case. Another one with long fluttering purple sleeves rushed up with a platter of cakes.

"We don't get a lot of practice at it," Qui-Gon answered, folding his arms.

Marit was not an ally of the government, but was she their ally, he wondered? She stood at his elbow, enjoying the show her friends made of fawning over Obi-Wan. More than half a dozen others watched as well. But except for one who was patting Qui-Gon's behind, they stood apart.

"We need to rescue the Republic negotiators," he said.

"You can't," Marit replied. "They always separate their hostages. At best they'll be at opposite ends of this city."

"Why are you telling him that?"

They both turned to look at the tall woman (the top of her head reached about the middle of Qui-Gon's chest), in black and white stripes, glaring at them. Three others stood behind her, their expressions stern.

"Are these people wanted by the government, Marit? If they are we should call the Minders. They shouldn't be here anyway. We're not supposed to have visitors today."

"We will _not_ call the Minders, Gwero," Marit spat.

"Oh, who put you in charge? I'll go see the Minders if I want - - - "

"Of course, you should," Qui-Gon interjected smoothly raising his hand. "In fact, my apprentice and I will be going to see them ourselves. Just as soon as your friends finish tending to his injuries."

A short distance away, Obi-Wan sat with his shoulders hunched under his brown robe, his thin Padawan's braid tucked in close to his chin, a plate and cup in his lap. One woman dabbed at his face while another stroked his short hair, but they were not touching anything else.

Gwero's eyes lost their focus. Her friends stared blankly up at the tall man before them.

"Thank-you very much for bringing this to our attention, Gwero. Your assistance has been very helpful, but I am sure you have other things to attend to now." Qui-Gon inclined his head to her.

She straightened proudly and looked toward Marit. "So, you don't know everything, Marit Groswik," she said before turning and leaving, the others following in a daze.

When Qui-Gon looked down at Marit again, he read surprise, suspicion and some fear. The other women now looked up at him warily.

"I've heard of Jedi mind tricks. You going to use that on me?"

"I do not think it will be necessary," he answered. "Do you know where the hostages are?"

"Which ones?" she asked immediately. "No. I know what you're asking. And, no, I don't know that kind of thing. Anymore." She set her jaw. "And I wouldn't help you even if I did. You'd have to do too much damage to get to them."

"We don't know about what they're doing now," a high cracking voice said at his other elbow. Qui-Gon saw one of the first women who had found them, the one in white, her hair a solid gray, styled and rounded mesh on her head. She patted his behind one more time and smiled up at him with playful brown eyes and an unhealthy gray tinge to the wrinkles around them. Her thin fingers squeezed his buttocks, but she barely had any strength in her grip through his clothes.

"But we know an awful lot about what they've done," she went on. They tell us everything. Just to impress. And they think we don't understand anymore And I suppose that's true for some," she said sadly. "But the truth is that most of us really don't care. And we wouldn't care at all if what they'd been doing came out. A lot of people would be very embarrassed if it did. They might even have to stop what they're doing, it would cause so much trouble for them."

She grasped the edge of his robe, pulling it back. Her fingers snuck in, too close to the lightsaber on his belt and he grasped her tiny wrist. Very . . . . gently.

Qui-Gon felt time slow in the Force.

Her heart laboring, beating too fast. Her skin, thin, age-splotched and transparent. Her wiry muscles diminishing. Bones brittle and hollow. Her body almost used up.

He carefully guided her hand downward, away from his weapon to his thigh. There was barely any heat at all under her cold fingers.

He knew that her name was Loozie.

She smiled back with small teeth, a shadow of a younger flirtation. But Qui-Gon saw her at all ages. Adorable little girl with big brown eyes that got her anything she wanted. Teenager who drew admirers to her with a wink and a smile. Young woman in her prime. Mature woman living at the height of her social powers, happy, confident, strong. Aging woman, learning to be cautious. Old woman. . . . .

Qui-Gon Jinn knew through the Force that this woman would be dead within a day. Her body no longer able to support her living.

Any attempt to prolong it would be cruel. Unbearable. She was almost used up.

Loozie winked at him.

"They won't believe anything we say. They'll think it was faked, or some Jedi trickery," Marit's response shattered Qui-Gon's moment of insight.

"But. . . . " she went on and Qui-Gon turned his attention back to the taller, stronger woman, ". . . . if we give you enough. The right kind of things. The government has plenty of enemies who will jump in to confirm them," she speculated, looking around. "Takaka. Glammik, Sesso!"

Takaka, a pale shriveled woman in a baggy dress of orange spots on green, shuffled forward. Glammik came from the crowd around Obi-Wan, who listened to one elderly woman's advice as she clasped his hand in hers. Sesso got up stiffly from a chair and limped to them.

"Do you have a recording device?" Marit asked.

Qui-Gon took out his holo-projector from a belt pouch. Marit nodded and led them to the covered structure. At one corner, Qui-Gon saw a circular holo-platform.

"This is where we record our little happy messages to our families when they're too busy to come and visit us in person. We tell them how nice things are here. How well cared for we are." Marit stepped up to the center of the platform, its inset circle lit up blue under her. She faced him.

"I cannot accomplish my mission with happy messages," Qui-Gon said, shaking his head. "I came to free the hostages."

"You can't do it. You don't have the means. You might be able to keep from being a hostage yourself, but freeing hostages is lawyer work. And we can give you something to strengthen your case. But you'll have to take it to the Republic and come back with more help; someone sly enough to use it."

"They would have confiscated our ship by now. We do not have any means of leaving the planet," Qui-Gon pointed out.

"I do." Marit took a controller from her pocket with a little swagger and clicked it. "Your transport will be here soon. So, we'd better get going."

Qui-Gon bent down to insert his holo-recorder into an inset output on the platform and took a seat to listen. Which was a mistake, because sitting, his hair was now within easy reach of the old women around him and they soon took advantage. They 'ooh'ed and admired and stroked his long hair, but he kept still, especially when Loozie leaned close to touch her nose to his head and sniff.

Marit began her tale by confirming that she was the mother of the current Prime Minister of the government. He had recognized her name, Groswik. She had a sharp and attentive memory for everything her powerful son had bragged about. And she was bitter. She gave detailed accounts of the government's tactic of taking hostages to gain advantage in trade negotiations. Trade with the planet, Zukmin, had gone down precipitously, but the practice persisted. The latest ambassadors from the Galactic Republic had been sent to negotiate an end to the practice. Before they, themselves, had been taken hostage.

Near the end of Marit's narrative, Obi-Wan came over with his new entourage to offer his Master cake and juice. Qui-Gon ignored the tone of sarcasm in his apprentice's tone and helped himself. The refreshments were very tasty and Qui-Gon noticed that the women smothering his Padawan with attention concern had noticeably diminished the bruising on his face.

After Marit finished, Glammik stepped up. She wasn't bitter at all. She just loved to talk. About herself and her family. Qui-Gon wondered if she realized how much trouble she might be getting her little brother, a member of the planetary Treasurer's Board, into, especially concerning ransoms paid to free past hostages. Marit curtly cut off Glammik's asides about her family.

Takaka talked about what she knew about the very good and clean detention facilities where the hostages were held by the government security forces, who had so recently greeted their Jedi guests with nets and stun sticks. Qui-Gon noticed the resemblance between Security Chief Matik and his grandmother.

During Takaka's talk Qui-Gon noticed that Obi-Wan seemed to have gotten comfortable with the women surrounding him. He smiled; his apprentice was learning. They sat in a group, a little further away from the holo-platform, the women whispering things in his ear; he smiled at some of them.

And Obi-Wan did not have deal with persistent groping from amorous, but harmless elderly women. Qui-Gon had discouraged one white-haired admirer from taking a seat in his lap. Loozie stayed at his side. Favored among her comrades who brought her a chair, she sat with her stiff mesh of gray hair resting against his arm, her thin bony arms clutching his warmth. The antiseptic smell of her hair stung with an imitation floral tang.

Sesso took her turn on the holo-platform. Her nephew worked on the Prime Minister's staff and she mostly only confirmed what had already been said. But she was concise and almost as bitter as Marit.

Near the end of this testimony, a small ship descended to the center of the flat area of the garden. Both Jedi tensed, but when the canopy opened they saw only a gold and blue droid inside, the insignia on it matching the markings on the ship.

When Sesso finished, Marit shut off the platform and picked up Qui-Gon's holo-projecter. He stood, as gently as possible dislodging Loozie, and Marit handed the device back with a flourish.

"Make good use of it," she told him.

"Will you be well?" he asked with concern, but still putting away his holo-projector in a belt pouch. Obi-Wan and the women with him joined them.

Marit sneered. "What can the do us?" she asked.

Qui-Gon could think of many terrible things that he had witnessed in his years as a Jedi Knight. But the Zukmins had never abused any of their hostages; they had always been treated well, and returned when promised, after proper payment. It was very doubtful that they would abuse members of their own families, even those who had turned on them. And, Qui-Gon sighed to himself as Loozie slipped her fragile arms around his, some of them were beyond any retribution.

They went to the small ship. It was only a small orbital hopper with two-seats and a space behind them. And the chauffeur droid occupied one of the seats.

"This will get you to the spaceport. Don't show your faces and let the droid do everything for you. They know it. And nobody will stop it. It will take this transport straight to the docking bay. No security. I've already logged a flight plan for a vacation on Ziratius Prime. I assume you two know enough about flying a ship to change the destination back to the Republic."

"Will your son question this trip?"

Marit grinned. "His staff has already sent me a message asking if I need anyone to go with me. My son's too busy looking for you two to call himself. By the time he does, you'll be gone."

Qui-Gon nodded and Obi-Wan started to get into the transport but had to stop for several hugs. The fat woman in the red dress hung onto him longest and he hugged her back. Then he climbed over the seats and squeezed into the space behind them.

Qui-Gon gently disengaged his arm from Loozie. He looked down at her living brown eyes, his hand touching her face, the dying flesh.

He leaned down low and touched his lips to hers. She opened her mouth. She tasted like decaying candy, too sweet. Her fingers stroked his beard, fully enjoying the life that she would soon give up.

He pulled away and she smiled fondly up at him. He felt Marit's bitter, calculating eyes on him as he climbed into the empty seat of the transport.

"Do everything they tell you," Marit instructed the droid, leaning over Qui-Gon to point a warning finger at the machine. "Follow every order as if I gave it to you. Not even my son can countermand them. Comply."

"Of course, Madame," the droid responded in a subservient masculine voice. "I shall follow all of their orders as if they were given by you."

Marit lingered in her uncomfortable position, her face close to Qui-Gon's.

"How much time does she have?" she asked quietly, correctly guessing what Qui-Gon knew.

"Not long," he whispered, his eyes going to a blissfully smiling Loozie who had stepped back from the ship with the others who clustered around her, a gathering of brightly colored clothes hanging off of aging bodies.

"And me?" Marit demanded.

He shook his head. "I cannot say. I do not know."

Obviously unsatisfied, she stared hard at him.

'Rescue me,' her gray eyes said, her harshness melting into desperation. He knew she would have insisted on going with them, away from her detention in paradise, if only her transport were bigger. Obi-Wan's boots bumped and scraped against the sides of it as he repositioned himself in the small space in back.

She leaned close to him. Her hand went up, but Qui-Gon stopped it from grabbing his hair, his grip firm on her thin wrist. He would not let Marit take what he had given freely to Loozie. Qui-Gon shook his head. He could not take her away from her bitterness; that would always follow her as long as she clung to it.

"We need to go," he said, releasing her.

Her eyes full of rage, Marit pulled her hand back, accepted his verdict. She withdrew. He and Obi-Wan put the hoods of their robes up, covering their heads. The canopy lowered, closing so that only shapes were visible though its gray tinted transparency.

The ship rose into the blue sky, leaving the garden behind.

**

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This story first posted on tf.n: 1-March-2009

**Disclaimer:** All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.


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